


When the Lightning Walks About

by FleetSparrow



Category: Batman - Fandom, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Consensual Underage Sex, Demons, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Mystery, Swearing, between 16 year olds, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing their house in Star City, ex-billionaire Oliver Queen and his ward Roy Harper relocate to Gotham in an old abandoned manor.  After a strange run-in with a boy, however, the abandoned house doesn't feel quite so abandoned.  In fact, there are quite a few faces in the empty halls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an AU prompt for a player in the Justice Lounge RP group. It sorta took on a life of its own. Everything is written from Roy's voice and 16-year-old Roy is quite foul indeed.

Sure, it had been cool moving into a new mansion after they lost the old one.  Yeah, Roy would have preferred to stay back in Star City, but Ollie seemed happy here, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain.  Apparently it’d belonged to some rich playboy back in the thirties, but no one knew what had ever happened to him.  The house had sat and rotted for years before Ollie finally bought it.

Roy was just settling in to his new room, flopping back on his new bed to test it, when he heard it.  A light laugh came from his window.  He sat up, readying himself for…what?  He was two stories up.  He faced the windows, fists raised, only to see a boy about his age clinging to the windowpane.

The boy giggled again.  ”Wanna let me in?”

OK.  So that was weird.

"Uh, no, actually.  What the hell are you doing hanging off my window?"

The window-clinger grinned.  ”I came to say hi!  I live downstairs.”

Yeah, that made no sense.

"Bullshit.  Nobody lives here but me and Ollie."

Stalker-boy or whatever rolled his eyes.  ”You have servants don’t you?”

Roy thought about that.  Well, there was a groundskeeper or something, but Roy thought he’d left when the place was sold.  Maybe he hadn’t.

Oh, great.  It’s the help’s kid.

"Look, what’s your name?  I’m not letting you into  _my_  room until I at least know that.”

The kid smiled.  ”Dick.”

"Well, fuck you too."

"No!"  The bastard was laughing again.  "That’s my name!  Short for Richard."

Oh.  Right.  He knew that.

"That’s…"  Awkward.  Weird.  A stupid nickname.  "Old."

Dick shrugged.  ”My folks were old-fashioned.  Can I come in now?”

Roy hesitated.  Letting some creepy dude with penis-slang for a name into one’s room was, like, number one on the list of “Things That Will Probably Get You On The Late Night News.”  Well, OK, maybe not number  _one_ , but it was totally on there.  But he was the only other kid his age around for…well, actually, this dick was about the only other person around for miles.

"Sure.  Why the hell not?"

He opened the window and Dick swung in easily.  ”Thanks!  Now that I showed you mine, can I see yours?”

Yup.  He was definitely ending up on the news tomorrow night.

"Fuck, what?"

Dick laughed.  He did that way too much for Roy’s liking.  ”Your name, silly!”

"Roy."

"Roy."  Dick looked off, whispering his name like he was testing it.  Very creepy.  "Roy.  I like it!"

"Good for you.  So…who are—"

Dick looked out at the window as though he heard something.  ”Dad’s calling.  Sorry.  Nice to meet you, Roy!  Mind if I come back sometime?”

Roy shrugged.  The kid must have had super-hearing or something, because Roy didn’t hear a damn thing.  ”Yeah, I guess.”

Dick leaned over and pecked a kiss on his cheek.  ”See you around!”  He leapt out the window without another word.

The kissed had so distracted Roy, that it didn’t occur to him for almost two minutes that he should probably check out the window to make sure Dick hadn’t just face-planted in the driveway or something.  By the time he did check, there was no one there.  Weird.

Whatever.  Creepy kissing kid wouldn’t be back anyway.

Two days later, however, he was.

Then two days after that.

Then the next few days.

Every day, the two grew closer and closer, Dick sharing many stories of his life in the circus, Roy sharing his life on the reservation.  Dick was friendly, open, bright, a little too touchy-feely, but Roy was getting used to that.  Over the next few months, Roy was getting used to a lot of things about Dick.

He never told Ollie.  Ollie never asked.  He wasn’t up in that part of the house, anyway.  His room was in the other wing, “to give Roy privacy, you know how teenagers are.”  Mostly, it was to give himself free rein to do what he wanted  _when_  he wanted and not worry about “the kid” hearing him.  Suited Roy just fine.

Besides, there was just something in the back of Roy’s mind that said he  _shouldn’t_  tell Ollie about Dick.  As if, if he did, Dick would disappear.  Dick would leave him.  Roy didn’t want to think about that.

The first time he and Dick “went all the way,” as Dick said, it was the middle of a hot July day, his first Gotham summer.  As they lay there panting and sweating from both their exertion and the heat, Roy caught strange movement out of the corner of his eye.

Dick was…shimmering.  Not in the well-oiled, sweat-soaked, hot model way, but in the….  Roy didn’t really have a way to describe it.  His boyfriend’s skin was shimmering.

No.  His boyfriend was  _flickering._

He leaned up on his elbow, watching Dick in confusion.  ”The fuck is happening to you?”

Dick looked up at Roy, tears at the corners of his eyes.  ”He’s angry.  He knows.”

"Who?  Who knows?  Knows about—"

"He’s calling me back.  He won’t let me see you again.  I love you, Roy."  Dick reached up and touched Roy’s cheek.  His fingers were like ice.

Like death.

Roy pulled Dick close, holding as tightly as he could.  ”Who, Dick?  Who’s—  Dammit, Dick.  I don’t—”

"I’m sorry," Dick sobbed.  "I love you."

All Roy could do was cling tighter.  ”Yeah, I—I love you, too.  I—”

Dick flickered more and Roy’s hand slipped through where his arm should have been.  ”Goodbye.”  The hand on Roy’s cheek faded, leaving only the traces of cool against his skin as Dick dissolved in his arms.

Roy stayed there for the rest of the day, just lying in bed, waiting.  Dick had to come back.  He couldn’t just leave Roy alone.  He had to come back.

He had to.

Very late that night, Roy was awakened by the sound of snarling just above his ear.  He opened his eyes slowly, freezing at the sight above him.  A creature as black as pitch, with flaming eyes growled down at him, baring its dripping fangs.

"You," it rumbled, sniffing at him.  "How dare you touch him?  How dare you soil him?  He was  _pure_  before you….”

Roy lay there staring at the beast over him.  This was the he Dick mentioned.  This was Dick’s protector, his keeper, his…dad?  It didn’t matter.  All that mattered to Roy was that this demon had taken Dick away from him.  It had hurt Dick.  Oh, how much Roy wanted to hurt it back.

"I didn’t soil him.  I made him happy.   _You_  hurt him, not me!”

The beast roared and reared up, ready to attack him, when a voice cried out from the window.

"Batman?"

The demon whipped around, hunched and panting, and Roy’s heart soared at what he saw.  Dick was in his window, wearing some sort of mask and costume.  It didn’t matter; he knew it was Dick.

"Dick!  You’re back!  I knew you… would….?"  Roy trailed off.

Dick was looking at him curiously, as though perplexed that Roy knew his name.  He looked back at the demon.  ”Batman.  It’s time to go.”

The Batman snarled at Roy once more, and swooped out the window into the night, Dick following right behind.

"Wait!"

Dick froze, turning back at him.

Roy sat up.  ”Dick.  It’s me.  It’s Roy.  Don’t you—”

"Don’t.  Roy—  It’s better this way.  Trust me."  He smiled sadly and leapt out the window, leaving Roy all alone in his room once again


	2. Chapter 2

The next day at breakfast, while Ollie sat there trying to pretend he wasn’t nearly as hungover as he really was, Roy thought about what he could do.  Whatever that was that had Dick under its control belonged to the Manor; if Dick belonged here, it, frighteningly enough, also had to.  That said, when did Dick belong here, and why?  Roy thought the last owner was some old guy who lived there alone.  Where did Dick fit in.

"Who lived here before us?" he asked suddenly, his voice echoing in the silent room.

Ollie winced and swore at Roy’s volume, motioning for him to tone it down.  ”What?  Who lived—  Fuck if I know!”

"What was his name?"

"I just said, I didn’t—  Whatever’s cast on the gate, I guess.  W, something."

Roy nodded, frowning at the table.  Yeah, ‘cause there weren’t, like, a  _billion_  W-names or anything.  Thanks, Ollie.

"Where d’you think I could find out?"

Ollie looked around, as if something would magically appear and explain why Roy was suddenly giving him the third degree on a house Roy didn’t seem all that interested in too long ago.  ”How should I know?  Internet?  Isn’t that where you find everything else?”

Roy rolled his eyes.  ”I can’t search for it if I don’t know what to search  _for_ , Ollie.”

"How the hell many big-ass mansions can there be in Gotham?"

"You looked at ‘em all, can’t you remem—"

A polite cough came from the doorway.  Their new butler stood prim and proper just inside the room.  They’d gone through five butlers in four months.  Eventually, the agency refused to place for them, saying that they had to protect their workers.  They’d gone without help for a while, a terrible, dark time in which they discovered that neither of them were much good at being domestic.  Then, one day, this new butler appeared out of the blue and offered his services.  If they thought it strange, neither Ollie or Roy ever said anything; they were too relieved they finally had help again.

The butler nodded to them.  ”I’m sorry, sirs, but I couldn’t help overhearing and thought I might be of some assistance.”  He faced Roy, hands clasped behind his back.  ”This house used to belong to the Wayne family.  It was their family home for many generations until it passed to the youngest Wayne—Master Bruce.  After the death of his parents, he continued to live here until his skiing accident in the Alps.  He was the last of the Waynes.”

Roy nodded, taking it in.  ”Bruce”, huh?  That didn’t explain much of anything.

"Who was Dick?"

Ollie spit back his coffee and Roy started to roll his eyes out of habit.  The butler looked…paler, sterner.  For an instant, the butler’s lips seemed to harden into a thin line and he almost—

No.  Roy imagined it.  There’s nothing there.

"I’m afraid I don’t recall any member of the Wayne family with that name, sir."

"What if he was, like, a houseboy or something?  Like, the gardener’s son or something?"

The butler smiled indulgently.  ”I am afraid I don’t know, sir.  Perhaps the Wayne family chronicles could help.  They’re in the South Library.”  He turned back to address them both.  ”Is there anything else you need, sirs?”

Ollie waved him on.  ”No, thanks, Jeeves.  That’s just fine.”

Roy shook his head and the butler bowed out of the room.  Something about that just struck Roy as…odd.  It was something about the butler, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

He spent the rest of the day in the library, pouring over all the albums and chronicles he could find.  If they were recent, they all ended at the same place:  the tragic skiing accident of Bruce Wayne.  No mention of anyone named Dick in the family, not even a Richard.  Fed up and frustrated, he dropped it for the night, planning to start fresh the next day.

He slept fitfully that night, plagued by strange dreams of the house, its stairs twisting and turning impossibly, hallways growing and stretching before him; books flying off their shelves, filled only with the name of Wayne; the butler, dutifully keeping him away from something he needed; Dick, beautiful and dancing in that strange costume, his mask hiding those warm blue eyes; the beast, Batman, claiming Dick, clutching him in his claws and dragging him back to its lair; the Manor itself, falling down, its foundation gone and crumbled below it.

He woke in a cold sweat, the thin light of dawn trickling in his window, a songbird chirping happily outside.  He sat with his face in his hands for a long time, trying to make some sense of his dream, but the more he thought, the vaguer it became.  Sighing, he fired up his computer and went to take a shower, hoping the hot water would clear his head.

When he returned, he checked in with the poor-man’s private eye, Wikipedia.  It didn’t give him anything more useful on either the Waynes or their manor, until he came to Bruce.

_It was said that Bruce had taken in a ward shortly before his death, but no records still exist after the Gotham Records Fire of 1943._

A ward.

Not entirely sure what that entailed, he looked it up.  Then followed the link to the Indian Appropriations Act.  Then the link to the “Boomers.”  Several hours later, when he found himself reading, but not understanding, a page on “phylogenetics”, he shook himself out of his Wikidaze and got up for some food.

Roy found the butler in the kitchen and was about to ask him for some food when he realized he had no idea what his name was.  ”Um, hey!  I, uh…. I didn’t catch your name.  We get new people all the time, so….”

The butler turned and bowed.  ”Alfred Pennyworth, sir, at your service.”

Roy nodded, a little uneasy, though he didn’t know why.  ”OK.  Um, you got anything I could eat, Alfred?”

"Of course, Master Roy.  Something light to last until dinner?"

"Yeah, that’s fine."

Alfred went about preparing a sandwich and fruit plate, bustling about the kitchen with ease.  It struck Roy that Alfred looked like he belonged here, like this was  _his_  kitchen.

Then it came back, that feeling that something was off, just as strong as before.  Only this time he knew why.

He leaned against the counter, tossing around an apple to seem occupied.  ”You, uh, you know a lot about this place.”

"Yes, sir.  The Wayne family history is a fascinating one."

"Right, right.  Just, um, surprising, y’know?"

Alfred pulled out a glass knife, slicing a large tomato.  ”Indeed, sir?  That such an enthusiast like myself should take up employment here?”

Roy watched him closely.  ”That you don’t know who Dick is.”

To his credit, the butler disguised his reaction as a tough spot in the tomato, slicing through the rest with ease after a hitch.  ”I am afraid I don’t know to whom you are referring, sir.  Do you, perhaps, have a surname to attach to this mystery person?”

Roy shook his head, taking a bite out of the apple.  ”Not a clue.”

Alfred finished the sandwich, placing it neatly on the plate, the fruit an artful splash of color along the edge.  ”I wish you luck on your quest, sir.  May you find what you’re looking for, and may  _that_  be what you want.”

Roy took the plate with a nod, confused by the butler’s cryptic comment.  God, everything about this house was creepy.

Roy settled back at his computer, munching on his sandwich.  What could he look for?  Wayne was turning up nothing.  What if he tried looking up Dick himself?

Yeah, that’s a good idea.  Google search “Dick”, see what happens.

What did he know about him?

About fifty shades of fuck all.

No, wait.  Dick was in the circus.  That could help.

"Dick, circus" turned up nothing helpful.

What did he say he did there?

_"I’m an acrobat!"_

Oh, yeah.  He’s an acrobat.  Right.

"Dick, circus, acrobat"  _did_  turn up a couple of hits way down a the bottom of the page.  A review of an old circus from a Chicago newspaper mentioned “Dick Grayson,” youngest member of the family team of acrobats called “The Flying Graysons.”  There wasn’t a picture of him, but it did list their touring stops.  The circus made a stop in Gotham.

Taking another bite of sandwich, Roy decided to brave Wikipedia once more and searched for the Flying Graysons.

_The Flying Graysons were renowned for their numerous death-defying stunts, all performed without a safety net of any kind.  The youngest member and last of the Graysons, young Dick Grayson, was known as something of a prodigy, being the only person his age, as well as one of only three in the world able to perform the legendary Quadruple Flip of Doom._

Wow.  No wonder Dick had bragged about being an acrobat.  That was hot shit.

_Sadly, the Flying Graysons were killed in a tragic accident, survived by their ten year old son Dick, who had already completed his part of the act.  Dick Grayson was taken to the Gotham Orphanage, but any records of his time there have been presumed destroyed in the Gotham Records Fire of 1943._

OK.  So, the boy who climbed up to his window that first day he’d come to Gotham was actually Dick Grayson, last member of the Flying Graysons, born March 21, 1927.

Yeah, that seemed legit.

He growled into his hands.  He wasn’t getting any closer to understanding any of this and his sandwich was gone and, god, was he hungry.  Leaving his computer up, he went down stairs to see when dinner would be ready and see if Ollie would actually be there for once.

After a remarkably uninteresting dinner, Roy plopped himself down in front of his computer, ready to search for whatever else he could find.

_Legends of Gotham City_

OK.  That was definitely nothing close to the page he’d left up.

_There have been many legends of strange happenings in Gotham City, none, perhaps, more strange than that of a giant bat said to prowl the city at night.  For several years, reports flooded in about a large bat-like creature, almost human-sized, swooping through the skies at night.  Although early tales mentioned only the bat, later ones detailed another smaller, more colorful accomplice, commonly likened to a robin.  The reports continued for several years, finally trailing off after World War II._

A human-sized bat and a robin?  What kind of drugs did Gothamites take?

Still perturbed by the open webpage he’d never seen and the knowledge that crazy apparently galloped through his new hometown, Roy shut down his computer and went to sleep.

Again, he found himself in bizarre dreams.  This time, he was surrounded by robins and bats, all fluttering around him in a never-ending stream of wings.  Suddenly, he felt a tug on his hand and followed this stranger who led him deep into the Manor, through twisting, turning halls, down into an old study, through a clock, down, down into the depths of the Earth.  The hand clutched in his was getting colder, like ice, like death.  Like Dick.  He looked up, eager to see his friend, only to see Alfred, proper and poised as ever, leading him to a long table.  He was saying something about a meal, but Roy couldn’t see any food, only darkness all around.  The light around the table flickered and went out, leaving him in blackness.  It didn’t frighten him; Robin was there to protect him.  Batman and Robin would protect him from the dark.  The drooling, snarling jaws of the demon appeared before him, shining with their own sick light.  Roy wasn’t afraid.  Batman was there.  He would be safe.  Batman was there.  Batman would protect him.  Batman would—

"Batman!"

He awoke with the name on his lips, eyes wide in horrible realization.  The demon was Batman.  Dick was his Robin.  Bruce Wayne was Batman.  Alfred Pennyworth was the last butler of the last son of Wayne Manor.

His house was fucking haunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to repost this here, because now all the "Wikipedia links" can be underlined.


	3. Chapter 3

Roy spent the next few days in silent research, trying to avoid contact with the ghost butler as much as he could, which didn’t seem to bother Alfred in the least.  He kept having the same dream, over and over, sometimes with a little variation here or there for flavor or something, but otherwise always the same—led to the study, through the clock, down to Hell, right to the table.  The how might have been different, but the what always remained.

The only problem was, he didn’t know where this study  _was_.  It didn’t actually seem to exist.  He’d made it a point over the last month to go through every room in the house and not  _one_ of them looked like the study in his dream, or even had a damn grandfather clock.

Of course they didn’t.  It’s a dream.

He asked Alfred about the house’s history, if it had been remodeled anytime after Bruce Wayne’s death, but the butler just continued preparing food and politely apologized.  He wondered if it would be awkward to say, “You’re a ghost!”, but he figured, yes, actually, that would be a terrible idea.

"Are there any, like, blueprints of this place I could find?"

"There may be some in the South Library, in the long cabinet, third drawer from the bottom, sir."

Roy nodded, stealing an apple from the small fruit bowl on the center island.  ”Thanks.”

"If I may, sir," Alfred called out, turning to catch him before he left, "might I inquire about your sudden interest with the house?"

Roy shrugged, a cold chill running up his spine as though someone else was there listening to them, watching them from some hiding place just behind him.  He glanced back, but there was nothing.  ”No reason.  Just, y’know, something to do.  I live here, might as well know about it.”

The butler watched him for a moment longer before giving a slight bow.  ”Very good, sir.  May you find what you’re looking for, and may  _that_  be what you want.”

Right.  Cryptic comment again.  Good.  He’d almost been missing that.

With a stiff nod, Roy left for the library, still trying to shake the feeling of being watched.

As he laid out the blueprints, he thought that if this was a Hardy Boys mystery, there would totally be some secret panel, or a hidden stairwell, or something shown on the drawing.  He also realized that, if this  _was_  a Hardy Boys mystery, he would know what the fuck he was looking at.  Guess nobody thought blueprint-reading was a necessary skill anymore.

He spent hours pouring over the maps, comparing the different plans, figuring out which were drawn for where and what direction.  He thought he finally figured it out, pulling out the final blueprint.  It was a copy of the original plans of the house, done for renovation in…1943.

He rushed up to his room, something about that date ringing familiar in his ears.  1943.  Year of the Gotham Records Fire.  Year of something else, too.  Something he didn’t pay much attention to at the time.

_Bruce Wayne (February 19, 1911-January 22?, 1943)._

There it was.

So, somebody planned to have renovation done for the house, but never did.  If Bruce wanted it to bring it back to what it was….

He was startled from his thoughts by the sounds of a heavy object being dragged.  Ollie was out and there was no way Alfred could lift anything nearly the size to make those sounds, ghost or no.  He raced back down, trying to follow the noise.  Every time he thought he got close to it, it rang from another part of the house.  It wasn’t until he got into the west wing that he stopped, his everything clenching, blood running cold.

It wasn’t in the house.

It was  _under_  the house.

The dragging sound continued deep below the floor until it just stopped.  The silence echoed worse than the noise.  Then something large and heavy started pounding and crashing, getting louder and louder, like it was coming for him.  Roy bolted away, back to his room on the other end of the house.  Whatever it was, it was angry and loud, and he did not need to see it right now.

He flopped down on his bed, shaken from whatever that was, and turned to his computer.  Maybe he could watch some stupid videos, take his mind off it.

_Gotham’s Underground Formations_

Yeah, that was definitely nothing like what he’d been looking at.

_Gotham City was built over an undiscovered system of  caverns in 1635 when a Norwegian mercenary…_

Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, get to the caves.

_There have been many expeditions made to map the vast system of caverns running throughout the entire city.  However, in the Gotham Earthquake of 1999, much of the city collapsed into these caverns, destroying the majority of the known entrances, and rendering any further explorations impossible._

_It is not known exactly how far these caverns stretch, but Gotham legend mentions deep tunnels running down the Tricorner Yards and as far up as the Bristol suburb._

Bristol.  That seemed familiar.

_The Bristol suburb is located several miles out of Gotham proper, in the area once known….  Famous residences include the Drake House (owned by the world famous archaeologist Jack Drake) and Wayne Manor (once owned by one of Gotham’s first families), which was recently purchased by Star City millionaire Oliver Queen._

Caves under Bristol.

There was a cave below Wayne manor.

That night, his dream was different.  He was running through the house searching for someone, someone who was calling his name.  Dick.  No matter where he went, no matter how close he thought he came, Roy couldn’t find him.  It was as though Dick was inside the walls, under the floor, above his head, but never there.  Suddenly, he was back in the west wing, at a broom closet.  It was an odd place for a broom closet, he thought, though his mind reminded him that it was a dream so, really, of all places for a broom closet to be, it was not one of the strangest.  Satisfied with his reasoning, he went inside and found himself falling.  He started to panic, but Dick’s voice was there, calling for him, and suddenly Dick was there, holding him, kissing him, carrying him down.  He didn’t mind.  Dick was there.  They could be together.  Together in the dark.

A blinding light woke him, and he jumped, shielding his eyes from whatever was suddenly shining.  Alfred was at the window, and turned to him with a bow.  The sunlight behind him created an eerie effect, almost washing him out, leaving only the silhouette.

"Good morning, sir.  The master has requested you join him in the study."

Roy blinked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.  ”I thought Ollie was still out for the week.”

"He is, sir.  The real master of this house has requested your presence.  He will meet you in the west wing study."

Roy froze in the middle of a yawn.  There wasn’t a—  ”I see.  You tell him I’ll be there.”

"He knows, sir."  With another bow, the butler backed out of the room, leaving Roy alone in a suddenly very chilled room.

Roy dressed with a deliberate slowness, trying to think of what to do.  It wasn’t like he really had the time to search for “Idiot’s Guide to Vanquishing Demons”, a) because it wasn’t free, and b) because by the time he’d flipped through whatever few pages he could get from an Amazon preview, he’d not only still have no clue what he was doing, but he’d also have a really pissed off demon in his house.

So, with no other option, he just went down alone.

It was stupid, of course, asking to meet in the west wing study when there wasn’t actually a study in the west wing of the house.  Of course, in his dream, he just went to the broom closet, but that was a dream and you could do stupid shit in your dreams.  You did that in real life and someone might see you and call you out for it.

Because someone was totally gonna see him open a broom closet in an empty house and think he was an idiot.  Totally how that worked.

After trying every other door just to be sure, he finally stood in front of the broom closet.  It was, he realized, a stupidly ornate door for a room that was barely the size of his shower.  He pushed it open and slipped inside; there was barely enough room for him and the door in the closet, but he somehow managed it.

OK.  There was  _definitely_  not a study in here.

He was about to slip out when he realized that the door…had…

shut.

…

Well, fuck.

He pulled the light chain, expecting to see some sort of snarling monster when it came on, but all he saw were brooms and mops and towels, harmless cleaning supplies just sitting on their shelves waiting for use.  He tried the door, ready to chalk it up to bad hinges, shifting foundation, or some other thing people used to explain why things totally weren’t haunted.

It was locked.

Well, double fuck.  And not in the good way.

Roy leaned back against the door and sighed.  Either he was part of someone’s Sims game and he totally just got stuck in a tiny room to die of starvation for the amusement of others, or there was something important in this room.  Well, he’d already played a Hardy Boy once; the least he could do was do it again.

He spent the next few minutes searching ever shelf and wall-panel he could reach, wondering if you were allowed to do stupid things like search a broom closet for secret panels if you were locked inside it alone.  Then, suddenly, his hand went through the wall.

Well, it went  _into_  the wall, at any rate.  A piece of wood folded in, hitting something with a loud click, and suddenly the back of the closet was opening.  Arming himself with a…hand brush—sure, why not?—he crept into the new room.

It was a dark room, sort of muted reds and browns everywhere with the occasional splash of that green that all rich old houses have on things.  There were bookcases all over the left side of the room, a fireplace on the right and, right next to it, a large grandfather clock.

Yup, this was definitely the study.

An old guy about Ollie’s age—OK, so like, thirty, but that was still old, whatever—sat at the desk, hidden in shadows.

"Have a seat, Roy."

Yeah, hell no.

"Why don’tcha turn on a light?"

Roy couldn’t see him, but he swore the man smirked as he reached over and pulled the chain on an old banker’s light to his right.  He motioned to the chair opposite him and leaned back, assured that his demand would be accepted.

And, yeah, it was, because Roy didn’t see any way to get out of it.

Sitting stiffly in the chair, Roy took a moment to study the man across from him, sure he was doing the same to Roy.  The man had nice features, pretty handsome, well-proportioned, a little pale, but it wasn’t like Roy could complain about paleness.  He had nice dark hair and piercing blue eyes, sorta like Dick, except they didn’t have any of Dick’s warmth, just ice and a little bit of sadness.

Roy shifted and rolled his shoulders, trying to act cool and calm.  ”So, what’cha want?  Why’dja ask me here?”

The man smiled, only it wasn’t really a smile, but it wasn’t a smirk.  It looked more like the expression a cat had right before it pounced.  ”We haven’t formally met, and that’s my fault, I apologize.  I should have greeted you when you bought the place.”  He leaned across the desk, offering his hand.

"I’m Bruce."


	4. Chapter 4

So this was Batman.  Good.  At least he didn’t look so demony.

Roy just looked between Bruce’s hand and his smile.  ”Cool.  Now that’s out of the way.  Where’s Dick?”

Bruce’s smile thinned and his eyes tightened.  ”A gentleman shakes the hand that’s offered him.”

"Don’t care.  Where’s Dick?"

Bruce set his hand on the desk with a thud, sliding it forward to brace himself as he leaned.  ”You should learn how to pick your allies, Roy.  You’ll find yourself in trouble one day with no one to help you.”

"Can the lecture, Wayne.  I get it enough from Ollie," Roy growled.  This wasn’t going anywhere, but he couldn’t leave before he knew what had happened.  "Where’s Dick?"

"Dick is where he belongs, somewhere you can’t go."

Roy leaned on the desk, mirroring Bruce.  ”Like hell, I can’t!  The only place Dick  _belongs_  is where he wants to be, and, if you hadn’t noticed?, that’s with  _me_.”

"Is it?  Where exactly is that?  In  _my_  house?  In his own bed?”

Of course Roy’s room was once his ghostly boyfriend’s old room.  Of all the bedrooms in all the mansions in all the world….

"I’ll take him somewhere safe, where it’s just the two of us.  I’ll take him away from you."  Here.  ’Take him away from here’ is what he meant to say.  And, judging by the way Wayne’s eyes were flashing, that would have probably been only scarcely better.

Bruce stood, hands still braced on the desk, and glared down at Roy from his full height.  ”Understand this now before it’s too late.  You will leave Dick alone.  You will not go looking for him.  You will not research him.  You will forget everything you know about him and you will just live in this house and know that things go on that you cannot understand and never will.  Is that clear?”

Roy clenched his jaw, sneering slightly.  ”Yeah, it’s clear.  Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it, but I get it, sure.”  Bruce closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, and Roy gripped his hand brush a little tighter.  Bruce just reopened his eyes and gave him this glare somewhere between a teacher’s “I’m so disappointed in you” glare and Ollie’s “This is me being a dad” glare.

There was an awkward moment of silent staring between them.

"So…is this the point you Hulk-out and go all demon on my ass?"  It could have been his imagination—it totally wasn’t—but Roy swore the shadows behind Bruce shifted at that.

"No," Bruce said calmly.  "This is the point where you leave and swear you’ll never go searching for Dick again."

"In that order?"

There was a low growl and Roy couldn’t tell whether it was from Bruce or something behind him, but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out.

"Yeah, sure, man.  Whatever you say."  He backed his way back toward the door/closet/whatever, not wanting to take his eyes off Bruce and his shadows.  He bumped into the wall/door/thing and felt his way along it to the opening.  "I promise.  Scout’s honor, man!"

The outer door of the closet was wide open and Roy bolted through it as soon as he knew it was clear.  Finally, when he was up in his room, curled into an upright ball on his bed, the flight instinct starting to calm down, he laughed weakly.

“ _-tt-_  Like I’m a Scout.”

That night’s dream was different.  He was back on the reservation, looking over a performance time-sheet for a circus.  Lion tamers, 10:23 pm.  Fire breather, 10:35 pm.  Acrobats, 10:48 pm.  He checked his watch he didn’t wear.  10:48.  Sure enough, the crowd before him roared with delight as two acrobats plunged down from their poles without their ropes.  He opened his mouth to call out, but Ollie was hurrying him along to a movie, whining about how they were gonna be late if Roy didn’t pick it up.  The clock that had never been in a Star City theater read 10:48.  Gunshots rang out right in front of them and Roy turned back just in time to see Ollie run off with a gun.  He started to go after him, but Dick grabbed his hand, smiling brightly at him, and leading him away.  They skipped along the street into the Manor, down the long hallways and into the study.  The grandfather clock chimed the three-quarter mark, a low somber tone like a church bell, but the bell was three minutes late.  The clock split open and the low rumble of the beast that took Dick away rolled up from the blackness behind it, calling Dick back down, away from Roy.  He tried to follow, but he couldn’t, because the minute had passed and he was back in his room, alone.

He woke up to Alfred opening the curtains again, doing that weird butler I-know-you-should-be-up-now thing.  Maybe it was a ghost thing, who knew.  Whatever it was, Roy wasn’t sure if he was thankful for it or not.

Alfred turned to him, looking steadily almost at him.  ”I trust you have considered the Master’s request carefully, your status as a scout notwithstanding.”

Damn.  You couldn’t say  _anything_  in this house without some creepy ghost calling you out on it.

"Yeah, I did.  And you can tell him that I don’t care what he says, I’m going after Dick no matter what!"

Alfred noticeably sighed, which upset Roy more than if he had done nothing.  ”Very well, Master Roy.  But I fear you are only hindering yourself.”

Good.  With creepy cryptic comment du jour out of the way, Roy could get on with what he needed to do.

Once he figured out what that was.

There wasn’t anything more he could possibly find out online—a fact he knew because no random page had shown up overnight—and Ollie still wasn’t home, which meant that a) Ollie was dead and Roy was next, b) Ollie was partying and would come home to a dead Roy, c) everything was fine and Roy was just totally flipping a shit over nothing, or d) Roy had totally lost track of where this multiple choice thing was going.

Whatever.  He’d totally figure this all out.

The Manor was surprisingly still and silent, which, if he had thought about it, wasn’t that surprising seeing as he was the only person living in it.  Well, the only  _living_  person in it, at any rate.

He made his way to the broom closet in the west wing, determined to take another poke around the study when he wasn’t expected.  Hopefully he wasn’t expected.  Slipping into the closet, he grabbed his trusty hand brush—which, on reflection, wasn’t necessarily that trusty, since he never  _used_  the damn thing, but whatever—and pressed the panel in the wall to open the real door.

And nothing happened.

He pressed it again.  Still nothing.

This could  _not_  be happening.  The only way he’d find Dick is if he could get into the study again and if the wall didn’t open, he couldn’t get in, and if he couldn’t get in, he couldn’t find Dick, and if he couldn’t find Dick….

No.  He  _would_  find Dick.  He would find him and bring him back from wherever Wayne-creep was keeping him.

Newly determined, Roy searched for another secret switch to open the door.  The sidewall slid open this time, bringing Roy into the study, just in the right-hand corner.

Well, that was inefficient.

He combed through the room, checking every suspicious looking book, every random bust, every key on the piano—although, in retrospect, that probably wasn’t such a good idea for stealth snooping—until he had fiddled with damn near everything in the room.  None of them took him anywhere else at all.

He slumped against a wall, trying to figure out where to go next, when he felt a small, cold breeze blow across his arm.

That was disturbing.  Either a ghost just walked through him, or the boarded and blocked up windows weren’t so blocked.

He looked to his right at the grandfather clock standing proud against the wall.  Unless….

He actually had to stand on his toes to reach the clock face.  It seemed like it was keeping time, but none of the hands actually moved.  He frowned, thinking about his dream.  10:48 pm.  Everything important he’d seen had happened at 10:48 pm.

Well, two and two make double dating, right?

He set the clock hands to the correct time, after adjusting them once because he mixed up the minute and hour hands, and stood back.  The clock rang out a low bell, like the sound of a small church bell, and swung open, revealing a tunnel of blackness.

Quickly fetching the flashlight sitting ever-so conveniently on one of the shelves of the broom closet, Roy started his way behind the clock.  If he hadn’t felt like a Hardy Boy all the other times he had, this would be the ultimate Hardy moment.  Although, considering he was looking for his lost boyfriend, that actually probably made him more like Nancy Drew.  Whatever.  At least she had a cool car.

The role of fictional teenage detective decided, Roy continued down the long winding staircase, down into what would probably be considered the bowels of the Earth if that really didn’t sound so skeevy.

As he stepped onto level ground once more, Roy heard a low grumble from the darkness ahead.

"You shouldn’t have come," it rumbled.  "You should have listened when he warned you.  You’re a fool."

Roy puffed out his chest.  ”I am not!  Why don’tcha come out here and fight me like a man, huh?  Huh?”

Out of the darkness came a semi-glowing figure, about his height, but vague in the hazy cave-dark.  It smiled as it drew nearer, features finally taking form.

"…Dick?"

The figure smiled sadly.  ”I’m so sorry, Roy.  You weren’t supposed to know.”

A roar echoed behind Dick as the blackness around him took form and engulfed Roy.  The last thought he had was that that sad smile of Dick’s had no place belonging on such a happy face.


	5. Chapter 5

Green.

That’s all he could see as consciousness came back to him.

Glowing, bright, bubbling, boiling green.

Roy groaned and slowly forced his eyes open.  He was…in a cave.  Check.  He was chained to a wall-rock.  Check.  He was staring at a smoking green pool of something that was almost definitely hazardous to his health.  Hey, three for three!

He wriggled in his chains, testing them.  Yup, good and solid.  Well done, demon ghost.  Something rumbled to his left, so he stared harder at the pool.  A hand brushed his head and he jerked.  It was Dick.

"Sorry," Dick said, that sad smile back on his face.  "I didn’t mean to frighten you.  I’m glad you’re awake.  I wish you hadn’t come down here."

"At this point, Dickie, that goes double."  Roy made a sound that was totally not a whimper when Dick looked away in sadness.  "No, Dick, no, don’t do that.  Come on….  Can you just…get me down from here?"

Dick shook his head.  ”He won’t let me.  I’m so sorry.”

"Fuckin’ Wayne," Roy grumbled under his breath, plotting all the revenge he could get if he just wasn’t chained to this rock.

"It’s not Bruce’s fault," Dick said, pulling Roy from his murderous thoughts.  "He just wanted to save me."

Roy looked at Dick for a moment, trying to decide if he should ask.  Well, he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, so he might as well hear the exposition of the century.  ”Save you from what?”

"It’s… let me show you."  Dick stood on tiptoe and pressed his forehead against Roy’s.  Roy convulsed as some sort of shadowy energy wrapped around him, pulling him in.  Suddenly, he was there.

\--- 

_The Cave was humming with the dull buzz of the machines, a soothing white noise for Dick’s training.  Every now and then, he’d yell for Bruce to watch him as he did some new trick, delighted when the man smiled and cheered him on, or gave him a gentle reminder about his form.  He didn’t realize how hungry he was until Alfred came down with a tray of sandwiches, the soft aroma carrying over to him through the ventilated air.  He swung down to join them, toweling off as he reached for a sandwich._

_"—looking for something, Alfred.  I’m just not sure what that is."  Bruce was pouring over some papers, maps of the whole Gotham cave system.  "It’s in these caves somewhere.  For all I know, it could be in_ this _one.”_

_"Still looking for that pit-thing, Bruce?" Dick asked, sheepishly taking a napkin from Alfred after getting caught wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  "I thought that was only a myth."_

_"Look at this, Dick," Bruce said, handing over a folder.  "That should answer your question."_

_Dick scrunched his nose at Bruce, but took the folder anyway.  Aging clippings from old newspapers and journals about a “fountain of youth” filled the folder, fluttering loose as he sifted through them.  Many of the earlier articles referred to the “Gotham Magic” that sprung from some sort of cave in the mid-1800s, some sort of hot spring that was supposed to grant immortality to the bather.  The final article was about the freak earthquake of 1893 that wrecked half of Gotham proper.  There were no more recent articles about the magical waters._

_"Holy Heidegger, Batman!  Do you really think there’s a fountain of youth in Gotham?"_

_"Not sure, chum, but I wouldn’t be surprised.  There’s been signs of activity in some of the caverns to the south.  Seems to be people searching.  Whatever these hot springs are, they can’t really be good; we need to find them before anyone else does and seal them off."_

_Dick nodded.  A fountain of immortality seemed wonderful, but if Bruce thought it was bad, then it must be.  Bruce was wise about these things.  That’s why he was Batman._

_A thunderous boom came from the depths of the Cave, shaking the walls hard enough to frighten away the bats.  By the time the flurry of wings subsided, Bruce was on his feet and halfway down a pole to the lower level.  Dick ran to catch up with him.  He had just jumped onto a pole when the Cave trembled again, and it was only his acrobatic instincts that kept him from flying off of the pole and over the edge of the floor._

_"What is it, Bruce?  What’s doing that?"_

_"I don’t know, Dick.  Stay back.  I don’t want you getting—"_

_An unearthly shriek rose from the Cave as an all-encompassing shadow swept through, knocking them back.  It smashed into the walls, crumbling them instantly, bringing the roof of the Cave down around them.  Bruce flung himself over Dick and rolled them under the Batmobile as the ceiling collapsed._

_When Dick next awoke, he found himself suspended in the air, caressed by shadowy tendrils.  The barest hint of a face leered at him from the darkness, inspecting every inch of him._

_A thin voice called up from the ground.  ”L-leave him…alone….”_

_Dick’s stomach dropped when he realized the weak voice was Bruce.  The shadow-creature shook in what seemed to be laughter and lowered itself.  ”And why should I listen to a dying mortal?”_

_Bruce grunted as he pulled himself from the pile of rubble and what used to be the Batmobile.  ”He’s… too pure… for you….  Not dark….”_

_Dick was turned around, as if being inspected by it.  ”If he cannot be a vessel,” said the shadow, “then he shall be an hors d’oeuvre.”  Dick screamed as the gaping maw of the beast opened wide to swallow him whole._

_"No!"_

_It dangled Dick over its mouth and looked down at Bruce._

_"I will be your vessel.  Spare the boy….  Save him…."_

_The creature rumbled and set Dick on the ground.  It swirled around Bruce, the shadows striking and curling at his legs and arms.  It shook with what seemed like delight, as though it found inside Bruce something it had been searching for.  Bruce was engulfed in the black haze, his own scream of pain merging with the demon’s screech of triumph.  Dick covered his ears and shut his eyes, desperately trying to block out the sound.  Suddenly, pain shot through him, like a knife cutting away his soul from his body.  Fire burned through him as the shriek echoed within him.  Dick could faintly hear the sound of another scream from the upper level._

_Just as suddenly, everything was silent._

_When Dick dared to look up, Bruce was on his feet, standing at the legs of a…._

_"Bruce," Dick whispered, taking a step back.  He stumbled as his footing rolled, only to discover he had stepped on a body._ His _body.  He looked back to his mentor.  ”Bruce…?”_

_"Not Bruce," he replied, his form growing larger and darker, taking on the shape of the costume Dick knew so well._

_"I am Batman."_

——-

Roy shuddered as Dick pulled away, his skin clammy from a cold sweat.  ”So…that thing I saw….  That’s not your old man, is it?”

Dick shook his head.  ”Bruce  _is_  still there, during the day.  He’s been working to free us.”

"Yeah, I’m afraid I’m a little behind on my ‘How to Slay Demons’ lessons, so I have no idea how that’d work."

"We have to return to our bodies."  Dick looked around, as though checking to make sure they were alone.  "The only way to do that is to throw them into the pit, but we can’t touch them ourselves.  Once it knew what we were looking for, it moved them along the edge here, to torment us."

Roy followed Dick’s gaze over to three perfectly preserved bodies.  They looked more like they were sleeping than actually dead.  Somehow that creeped Roy out more than anything else so far.  ”So, why am  _I_  here, then?  I’m not dead.”

Dick leaned against him, half hugging him.  ”You will be.  It wants you for food.  A new soul, one with no protection around it.”

Well, tan-fucking-fastic for him.

Roy cocked his head.  An idea was beginning to form.  ”Hey…Dick?”

"Hmm?"

"You, uh, you said you can’t touch your bodies, right?"

Dick nuzzled his shoulder sadly.  ”Right.”

Roy nodded.  ”OK.  So  _you_  can’t touch the bodies, right?”

Dick looked up at him, puzzled.  ”Right… _I_  can’t.”

Roy grinned.  ”That means  _I_  can!”  He rattled his chains to test them, mildly wondering if he should make a Scooby-Doo reference before deciding against it.  ”C’mon, get me out of these!”

Dick nodded eagerly, a bright smile lighting up his face again.  God, Roy had been missing that smile.  Roy tried to look around, straining his eyes to see something other than bubbling green and sleeping corpses.

"Hey, Dick, can you tell when Demonbats is coming by?"

"Uh-huh," Dick said, working on unchaining Roy’s legs first.  "I sorta… hear-feel him, y’know?"

No, he didn’t.

"Sure, yeah, I getcha."  Once Dick finally unchained his arms, Roy helped him undo the last chain around his chest, realizing only a second before he fell that the chain might possibly have been the only thing holding him upright.

He collapsed on Dick with an “oof!” and the boys rolled slightly down the slope of the floor.  He stared down at Dick, unable to keep the probably stupidly goofy grin off his face.  He’d missed this sight, Dick’s pretty, smiling face beaming up at him.  It made him stupid-happy.

Dick suddenly looked off to his left…or,  _his_  right, technically, but whatever.  ”He’s coming.”

This was no time to be debating whose right this was.

Roy jumped up and ran over to the bodies.  He rolled Alfred’s body toward the pool, almost asking Dick for help before remembering the whole reason  _he_  was doing this alone.  The pool hissed and burbled when the body plopped into it, black gunk sifting up from…somewhere.  Roy hoped it wasn’t from the corpse, because that would just be  _too_  gross.

He had an easier time with Dick’s body, setting him gently into the liquid that immediately sucked him in.  He turned back for the last cadaver.  ”How much time we got, Dick?”

Dick was doubled over in pain, inky black spikes jutting out of his body.  He was sobbing out screams as he began flickering again.  He disappeared as Roy ran toward him, a wall of angry black shadows replacing him.

"You think you’ll destroy me.  Fool."

At this point, Roy really couldn’t say he argued with the smoke monster.

He ran back to the corpse, trying to shove, drag, and roll it toward the pit as best he could.  The demon let out a rumbling laugh and swirled around Bruce Wayne’s body, finally disappearing inside it.

That could  _not_  be good.

The body rose, its limbs moving jerkily, only roughly controlled by a movement command.  Roy’d seen so many horror movies like this it wasn’t even funny.  He turned and bolted in the other direction, only to discover the cave ended in a wall of loose stones.

Of course it would.

The demon-corpse was still moving toward him, its movements getting smoother as it went, and Roy realized he really was stuck between rocks and a demon-face.  Or whatever the saying was; he never listened to Ollie’s old-manisms anyway.  He set his hand back on the wall to brace himself and stumbled as it gave way, small rocks rolling down to his feet.

That was an idea.

He chucked a melon-sized rock at Zombruce, which hit his chest and made him stagger back.

Aw yeah, rocks!

Roy threw as many rocks as he could, knocking the uncoordinated corpse back with each throw.  He grabbed larger and larger rocks, anything that he could throw, until, finally, with one last stone, the body fell into the pit.

For a moment, all was silent.  A piercing shriek like one only heard in nightmares echoed through the cave, forcing Roy to his knees as he covered his ears.  Wind rushed past him, gusts of hot, putrid air bursting from the pit, stinging his eyes and nose.  With a final explosion, the blasting air stopped and the cave was silent once again.  Roy looked up at the pit, his focus swimming.  He almost swore he saw something rising from it before unconsciousness overtook him once again.

——-

Roy awoke to the sound of curtains being drawn and the too-bright morning light of a stupidly happy sun.  He grumbled and wriggled further down into the covers, hoping to shun as much of the light as he could.  He heard a soft tutting noise from above him.

"Now, now, Master Roy.  That is no way to wake up and greet the day.  You must rise and _shine_  today.  You have a very important visitor waiting for you.”

"Just five more minutes, Alfred," Roy mumbled, trying to bury himself among his blankets.

Alfred.

Alfred?

Roy popped up from under his covers, looking around for whoever was just talking to him.  Sure enough, there stood Alfred by the window, neat and tidy as ever, looking just as proper as he always did.  The butler smiled slightly and nodded.

"You’ll find him in the dining room, Master Roy.  He’s expecting you."  With a small wink, he left Roy alone and confused once more.

Roy threw on some clothes and all but ran downstairs, eager to see who this visitor could be.  If Alfred was still here, then maybe….

He skidded to a halt in the dining room.  There, sitting in his chair, was Dick Grayson, looking much more alive than the last time he saw him.  Dick turned to him to speak, a grin taking over his face, and he ran to Roy, throwing himself around him.

They held each other for a long time before Roy finally pulled back, his curiosity getting the best of him.  ”So, explain.”

Dick cocked his head, leading Roy back to the table.  ”Explain what?”

Roy rolled his eyes.  ”Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe the demon-thing that happened in the pit?  Maybe the fact that, somehow, I woke up back in bed even though I am almost one-hundred percent sure I collapsed back in that cave?  Maybe how you’re all solid and warm again?  Pick one!  I’m easy.”

Dick giggled, and Roy felt his heart melt a little.  He  _had_  missed that.

"Well," Dick began, leaning back in his chair, but still holding Roy’s hand, "The pit has some strange properties.  It can grant a bather a level of immortality and it can raise the dead.  Bruce thought if the pit forced our souls back into our bodies, the demon would be forced to leave, possibly even destroy it, but of course, we couldn’t try that unless we had someone to move our bodies for us."

"Hence me," Roy said, his eyes narrowing at Dick.

"Exactly!  We needed someone who would be willing to listen to us and help us.  The manor had been empty for so long, we thought no one would ever come."

Roy didn’t know exactly why, but this entire conversation already upset him.  He slumped in his seat, trying to pull his hand away from Dick.  ”Good.  You found your sucker for your sob story and now you’re free.  Howdy doody.”

Dick leaned over to him.  ”Roy, no.  I didn’t mean anything to hurt you!  I knew you’d help us because… I love you.”

Roy shook his shoulder and pouted, but let Dick take his hand again, maybe not quite as upset as he had been.  ”Fine.  So, what are you now?  Are you…alive?”

Dick nodded, smiling wide.  ”Yup!  Just as alive as you are!  We’re, uh….”  He glanced at the door, then leaned close to Roy.  ”Bruce is in with your dad right now, telling him how he’s the illegitimate grandson of Bruce Wayne, and I’m his adopted son, and how all he wants is to be able to live in the family home that should have been his birthright, and all kinds of malarkey.”

Roy’s lips twitched upward.  ”Does this mean you get to stay?”

"Yes, sir!  I mean, he hasn’t convinced him  _yet_ , but your old man seems pretty agreeable.”

"Yeah, that’s one word for it."  Roy bit his lip.  "Say, does Bruce…y’know, approve of us…?"

"I think so.  I mean,  _he’s_  never said otherwise.”

"Well, he did kinda try to eat me once."

"That was because he thought the demon could get me.  He thought you made me impure, so it could take my soul."

Roy scrunched his mouth.  ”Yeah, not exactly the kind of guy you wanna ask a blessing from, y’know?  A bit over-protective.”

Dick laughed.  ”That’s one word for it.”

A large peal of laughter rang out from the hall as Bruce and Ollie walked in to the dining room, each with an arm across the other’s shoulders.

"Roy, boy!" Ollie yelled, in his forever enthusiastic way.  "How do you feel about having a few permanent guests in the house."

Roy and Dick exchanged glances.  ”Yeah, well, I guess it’d be all  _right._   As long as I get to keep my room.”

As Ollie laughingly chided Roy’s attitude, Bruce shared a silent “thank you” with Roy.  Roy grinned.

That was as much of a blessing he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even now, it feels a bit rushed, and I could probably flush it out more with some effort, but I'm so danged proud and relieved to finally have it finished at all, I'm glad with how it is.


End file.
